


Billionaire Down

by Crowlows19



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 08:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowlows19/pseuds/Crowlows19
Summary: Oliver Queen had never wanted to be the first Justice League member Tim Drake met but Bruce seemed to have other ideas.





	Billionaire Down

Bruce had carefully cultivated his image of being a fun loving playboy over the years, which for the most part meant sleeping with a lot of people. That part he mostly found enjoyable, though there was a socialite or two who had a habit of just laying back and expecting him to do all the work. Still he usually went out on a Friday or Saturday, a couple of times a month to be seen by paparazzi and pick up a fling or two. 

Over the years he had toned down, dependent on if he had a child at home or not. And with Dick fully grown, playing cops and robbers in Bludhaven, and Jason dead for nearly a year, it had started to become imperative that he pick up the pieces of his life again. Besides, losing his pain in something else might feel good.

And so, he ended up at a club opening (he couldn’t for the life of him ever remember the name of the club and they shut down two months later) when he’d run into Oliver Queen, also there to be in full view of the cameras and the trust fund chasers. Bruce had joined him at his VIP table without being asked, something he knew would annoy the other man, but seeing as he was mostly alone Bruce didn’t think he’d mind. 

“I’m hiding,” Bruce admitted. He didn’t normally drink for real at these things, finding that it was far safer to pretend but he had figured, why not? He was three whiskeys in and he knew immediately that Oliver could tell. The concerned look in the other man’s eye told him that. Bruce knew that the entire Justice League was aware of what had happened to Jason and he hated the pity every time he ran into one of them. He hadn’t been back to a meeting since the funeral, much to Clark’s chagrin. The alien had been hoping their side trip to Smallville would have jolted him out of his funk at least a little bit. 

“From who?” Oliver asked, shouting over the loud beat. Oliver’s group of random women had long gone to the dance floor and the two of them were left alone at the table, with only a set of bouncers guarding the entrance to their exclusive section. 

“That redhead,” Bruce told him and pointed to what had to be the most beautiful woman in the club. “I never called her back and she’s already tried to throw her drink on me once tonight.” Oliver shook his head and Bruce could tell that he was over the club part of this night and frankly Bruce was too. He checked his phone, read the one message he was interested in above all the other notifications, and made a split second decision. He stood up suddenly and gestured for Oliver to follow him. “Come with me!”

Oliver complied, only speaking when they made it to the relative quiet of the valet. Bruce handed the kid manning the stand his ticket. The boy couldn’t have been older than seventeen. 

“Where are we going?” Oliver asked, seemingly willing to follow for whatever reason. 

“Somewhere less vapid,” Bruce replied. “What are you doing in Gotham?”

“Flew in just for this opening,” he said. “Figured there’d be enough star power and press to last the rest of the month.”

He and Oliver had once had a two hour long conversation about their methods for generating press to meet the needs of secret identities without also making it easier to pinpoint their locations and ruin alibis. It had taken place at a League dinner in some alien bar Clark knew about in Metropolis and they had been quickly abandoned by their colleagues to more interesting subjects. After all, this type of thing really only applied to them. Though Clark’s reporter side had been vaguely interested. 

“Yeah, probably,” Bruce replied, hearing the tell tale click of many cameras behind him. He knew that the both of them would be in gossip rags tomorrow morning. Most people didn’t know that they knew each other. Some of the seedier sides of the internet would be spreading the gossip that they were secretly a gay couple. Dick would send the links to Bruce tomorrow morning as a joke. 

The car pulled up and Bruce tipped wildly. They jumped in and were gone into the streets before any of the paparazzi could follow. Bruce rolled down the driver’s window of the black SUV he’d chosen for that night, simply letting the night air hit his face and flow through his hair. Oliver was quiet, not seeming bothered by the lack of knowledge regarding their next location. 

As they got closer to where Wayne Manor was, Oliver got more relaxed and then he tensed again when they passed the gates and continued into the hills above Gotham.

“Uh, the Manor’s back there,” Oliver finally said. 

“I know,” Bruce replied. He stopped in front of a set of gates guarding the property immediately next to Wayne Manor and turned off the car. “C’mon.”

Oliver, thoroughly bewildered by the odd behavior of a man he’d thought he had figured out, followed him. The gates were locked so Bruce simply scaled them. 

“Bruce!” Oliver hissed. “What are you doing? You’re not in uniform!”

Bruce dropped to the ground on the other side and turned to speak to the other man through the gates. 

“C’mon,” he repeated and Oliver wondered if this what Bruce Wayne looked like when he was hammered. “I want you meet someone.”

“Can’t we just use the call box and ask to be let in?” he tried. Bruce rolled his eyes. 

“Just get over the damn gates,” he ordered, boarding on his Batman voice. Oliver finally hopped the gates and the two of them began their half mile walk up the drive way. 

“Whose house is this?” Oliver asked. 

“It belongs to the Drake family. They’re new money,” Bruce said and Oliver rolled his eyes. That was such a Gothamite thing to say. 

“And we’re breaking in, why?” Oliver pressed, reaching out to grab Bruce by the arm and stop him from walking. He was half way surprised when Bruce actually complied instead of tossing him into the nearest tree. 

“If I gave Tim any kinds of heads up that I was coming he’d cover it up,” Bruce said, not making any sort of sense. Who the hell was Tim?

“Cover what up?” he asked instead, going for the more relevant question. 

“The fact that he’s home alone and has been for the last month,” Bruce replied. 

“Who cares?” Oliver snapped. 

“Tim is twelve years old,” Bruce told him and then he pointed at the mansion. “And he’s in that house by himself.” Oliver looked at the dark mansion. There was probably some sort of staff in there as well but Oliver got the point. Bruce was doing a welfare check. He let go of the other man’s arm and followed him in silence the rest of the way. At the very least, he’d have a great story to spread around the Watchtower. Who didn’t like to hear about Batman acting out of character?

“How long have you known this kid?” he asked as they got closer. He was genuinely curious as to if the Drakes were friends or not. Why else would Bruce have any idea what was going on in the house?

“About a week,” Bruce replied and then shushed him. Oliver was more confused than ever as they found an unlocked window and made their way into a library on the first floor. He followed Bruce through the house and was uncomfortably aware that the other man seemed to know exactly where he was going. 

On the second floor, deep in the east wing, Bruce suddenly halted, frozen almost mid-step, clearly listening. Oliver heard it too. If he’d been in uniform, it may not have happened as it did. But his guard had been halfway down and he clearly hadn’t been expecting to be in this situation at all. He heard a small noise, a footstep, and he’d turned just in time to see Bruce duck out of the way. He felt an incredibly hard impact straight to his solar plexus. 

Oliver was knocked off his feet, landing on his back, the breath knocked out of him, barely able to inhale and certainly unable to talk. The pain was remarkable given that his civilian clothes offered absolutely no padding at all. 

The hallway lights came on and he saw a barefooted, short, twelve year old boy in baggy sweatpants and a hoodie, holding a potato gun and grinning like a madman. 

“Got ya,” he said, totally satisfied with himself. Bruce leaned over Oliver, his eyebrow lifted in that way Oliver knew meant the other man was deeply amused. 

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I probably should have warned you about the potato gun.”

Oliver wanted to say, “Fuck you,” but he was in too much pain and couldn’t draw in the breath needed to make the words come out. 

00000

“Here you go, Mr. Queen,” Tim Drake said, handing Oliver an ice pack. Bruce had helped him down to the kitchen, dumped him in a chair, and proceeded to rummage through cabinets until he found what he needed to start making a peanut butter sandwich. 

Oliver removed his tie and dress shirt, taking the offered ice pack, and pressing it onto his incredibly tender solar plexus. 

“Thanks kid,” he said. 

“I’m really sorry,” Tim told him. “I thought I was shooting Bruce.”

“I wish you had been,” Oliver replied. 

“Don’t ever aim a weapon at a target if there’s even the possibility of a margin of error,” Bruce chimed in. Oliver would have loved so dearly to just slug him but he couldn’t fault the man for being right on that point. 

“What he said,” Oliver told the kid, who gave a small, very uncertain smile. 

“Tim, come eat this,” Bruce ordered, and the boy went over, grabbed the plate out of Bruce’s hand and returned to the table. He sat down and stuffed half of it in his mouth in one bite. Oliver was certain his jaw hurt his mouth was so stuffed. Bruce came over to stand in front of him. 

“Any broken ribs?” he asked Oliver. 

“Not for lack of trying,” Oliver snapped, glaring up at him. Bruce smirked, moved near Tim, and crouched down until he was at the boy’s height. He placed one hand on the table to stable himself and the other on the back of Tim’s chair. Oliver knew that if he’d been in his uniform he could have looked terrifying. 

“Timmy,” he said, never taking his eyes from Oliver. “Do you know who this is?”

“Oliver Queen,” the boy piped up looking at his sandwich, far more concerned with it than his malevolent neighbor and his winded friend. 

“Who else is Oliver Queen?” Bruce asked, and Oliver felt a chill go down his spine. Tim Drake didn’t even look up when he answered. 

“Green Arrow,” he said in that way only kids could be; dead serious and completely unaware of the full impact of what they’d just said. The boy turned to Bruce. “What are you doing here?”

Bruce finally looked away from Oliver’s eyes and looked at the boy instead. 

“Go pack a bag,” he said by way of answer. “You’re going to stay with me for a few days.”

“Okay,” Tim said, following the order without question and disappearing from the kitchen with what was left of his sandwich in his hand. Bruce sat in Tim’s abandoned chair, pushing the plate out of the way, so he could lean his forearms on the table. 

“What the fuck?” Oliver said. “You told him my identity?”

Despite the League having long shed many of those walls among its core members, it was just common courtesy not to tell your twelve year old neighbor, no matter how many sandwiches you made the kid. 

“No,” Bruce told him. “He figured it out.”

“What?” Oliver asked, shocked. Bruce made a face as if he couldn’t believe it either, and maybe he couldn’t because the story he told Oliver was almost unbelievable. Tim Drake at six years old had figured out who the Batman was while the rest of the world had still been debating if the man was real or simply urban legend. And, according to what Bruce had found out, it had been as simple as dominos falling for the boy to deduce many of the other Justice League members identities as well. 

“He’s got you and Clark, possibly Diana,” Bruce said. “He might have Barry as well but he’s being cagey about it. I think he’s playing me on that one, seeing if I’ll slip and give him a clue.”

“I can’t believe this,” Oliver said, truthfully. He was almost too shocked to speak. “What are you going to do with him?”

“Take him back to the Manor for now,” Bruce replied. 

“You’re going to kidnap him?” Oliver exclaimed, momentarily losing himself. Bruce’s glare was withering. 

“No,” he snapped. “I’m going to make sure he doesn’t become a problem. That boy is smart; he’s smarter than me and he’s definitely smarter than anyone else in the League. His parents are gone nine to ten months of the year so all that kid does is go to school and then come home to solve the most difficult puzzles he can find. Right now those puzzles are us.”

Oliver pointedly ignored the insult, mostly because he knew he couldn’t win that argument, and replied, “What kind of parents leave their kid alone in a mansion like that?”

“I’ll let you know if I ever meet them,” Bruce said. Their conversation was cut off by Tim re-entering the kitchen. He had put on his shoes, packed a backpack, and was clutching his laptop to his chest like they might decide to suddenly take it away. Oliver eyed this skinny, too short kid and wondered if he was looking at the end of the Justice League. He knew that all he could do was trust Bruce to handle it.

When he watched Bruce walk with the chattering Tim down the drive and back to the car, he had an inkling as to where this was going. Those two talked about high level program algorithms the entire way back to the Manor and Oliver never understood a single word. He spent the night when Bruce offered only because it was clear the other man wasn’t planning on taking him back for his own car. 

And when he watched Tim and Bruce at breakfast the next morning he thought he saw something spark in Bruce’s eye. He was listening to that kid as if he had the most fascinating things to say and really, Tim kind of did, he was just that smart. 

Oliver was by no means surprised when rumors spread through the Watchtower like wild fire about six months later that there was a new Robin operating in Gotham. The curiosity was so intense that even Superman couldn’t hold back the tidal wave of gossip. Oliver didn’t really participate though. He kind of liked the boy and he was certainly doing well as the new Robin. 

He never did forgive Bruce for the potato gun thing though.


End file.
